


Lily of the Valley

by Astoria



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Grantaire does not know how to flirt, M/M, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 09:22:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3931546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astoria/pseuds/Astoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras and Grantaire have to share a bed and when the morning comes their senses awaken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lily of the Valley

«  _Merde_  ! » Enjolras exclaimed between the foie-gras canapés and the oysters. The champagne flute he had grabbed, after a half hour of grumbling and frowning, was chipped and he had scraped the skin just under his lower lip. It didn’t hurt but he was in an already bad mood and that was the straw that broke the camel's back.

His mother came running almost immediately even though she had been several rooms away: she had the power of super hearing he was sure of that. “Mon petit Jojo! What’s happening? You frightened me, as you do swear so seldom!”

He groaned internally and externally. He loved his overbearing mother as one might do, with a lot of caution but a tender fondness beneath it all. He was going to remind her not to call him by this hellish nickname he had had to endure since he was wearing diapers, when his dear mother’s maternal instincts kicked in and she wetted the tip of her thumb to wipe away the small drop of blood.

“Mommy, please!” He finally cried out.

“I do not wish to embarrass you, excuse your poor old mother for wanting to dot on you!” She laughed at that and he joined her. His mother was a basic Parisian bobo, a bohemian bourgeois who would spend thousands of euros to look penniless and free and young. She was wearing a long shawl and her long curly blond hair was messily tied in a bun not unlike her son’s hair, said son who on the contrary was not doing it on purpose. His constant state of disarray translated his ambition of movement, his desire to fight and his inability to rest.

She caressed his cheek one last time before joining her guests. Enjolras was left with a smile: she had that power over him he had to admit. He put down the offensive glass and tried to interest himself with the reception without fidgeting too much. But it was easier said than done. He had so much to do, the first of May had passed and gone and the unions’ protests went unnoticed in favour of the extreme right party’s vaudeville family drama, and if he heard one more time their names or the names of their anti-republican party in all media to ever exist in France he was going to explode rather messily. No he wanted to act now, to strike when the population and the attention were still hot and stirring under questions.

“Cute.” A deep voice spoke behind him and Enjolras started a little, now happy to have put down his glass. He turned around to see a man older than himself carrying the very same flute he had just before. A sudden feeling of childish pettiness rose within him and he asked for his glass back all the while pointing him with a finger that held all the accusation of his tone.

The man laughed heartily, throwing back his head, his black curls bouncing on his head. He had black stubble, not quite a beard more like he had tried to shave this morning before giving up and letting nature do what is pleased. Enjolras had the sudden urge to examine the man a little lower and yes, some hair was escaping his shirt and his neck seemed rough. Himself, he was not as beardless as Courfeyrac liked to joke about but his hair was so fine and so blond that it was all the same.

“You wish so hard to kiss Marie-Antoinette’s breast?” The man asked with a grin as if he had made a particularly funny joke.

“You are high.” Enjolras replied peremptorily.

“No.” He then murmured words that were probably meant for his own ears only. “Perhaps I would like to be now that I am talking to you.”

Enjolras did not know how to answer to that so he did not and he eventually turned around to try and find some interest around him. Still he could not shake off the man’s presence and what he said was bothering him. Suddenly, surprising himself too, he whirled around and sprung back his finger.

“What did that mean, Marie-Antoinette’s breast?”

The man smiled knowingly as if he had known this titbit of information was going to keep the conversation going. He emptied the chipped flute, the bone of contention, right there on the floor. Enjolras’ mouth opened on its own: it was his house but he could not help the kind of admiration that spurted at the bold move. Then the man placed the glass over one of his breasts while sliding his fingers absently up and down the foot of the glass.

“It is said to have been moulded on Marie-Antoinette’s breast. Can’t you see it?”

Now that he thought about it Enjolras could imagine the process and the shape was unmistakable. His eyes could not leave the glass gently put upon this stranger’s chest nor could they stop watching the hypnotizing movement of the fingers, odd fingers he noted. Slender but thick, hairy-knuckled but with a skin that seemed almost delicate. This man was full of contradictions and it perplexed Enjolras.

“Off with their heads is what I say.” He finally settled on.

The man laughed again, and although Enjolras considered himself a very happy man surrounded by happy friends, he still found it very rare for people to laugh so easily especially in the company of strangers. “Oh a revolutionary we’ve got there.”

“Of course, we are French. Don’t tell me you actually support any kind of monarchy or oligarchy or whatever they invented to destroy any hope for the people?” He realized he had adopted his famous tone, the tone that could make cry anybody coupled with the ‘intense glare and the froth at the mouth, Enjolras seriously you are scary’ as would say some of his friends and acquaintances.

“So you are not very interested in the news?”

Had he missed something? “Why? What happened?”

“But the royal baby girl of course! How could you miss this crucial piece of information, how could you not wait in front of your telly with bated breath the name of the maybe next queen of the United Kingdom, how could you not admire Kate’s slim waist and William’s smile?” The man explained moving his hands all around him.

Enjolras’ mouth opened and closed rather stupidly and for a few minutes he could not speak as he was too flabbergasted. Was he entirely serious. What was happening. Oh no he needed to leave this conversation right now, right now immediately. Did he just fall on the only passionate royalist in a room full of people?

But the man suddenly laughed again and put his hand on Enjolras’ shoulder as if they had been friends forever and he had played a good prank on him. Well, he had to admit, he had been had beautifully.

“God, your face! You lost all colours; I would have been scared if your eyes had not been so murderous. ”

He smiled slowly because the man already had him figured out within the minutes of their meeting and he knew what ticked Enjolras and what made him smile. Not a lot of people could say they had this effect on him. He was still smiling when the man’s hand travelled from his shoulder to under his mouth. His thumb rested on the small prick he had inflicted upon himself with this damn glass and the rest of his fingers were light against his jaw.

Enjolras could not breathe anymore. What a weird man, who actually did that? But he could not find it in himself to be mad or even uncomfortable, the tingles travelling throughout his skull down to his toes that followed the movement of the man’s digits preventing him from feeling anything but want and desire and a sigh that escaped deep from his weakened lungs.

“Long live the Republic.” Enjolras let out as a joke in the hope it would break the spell. He made to leave but the man did not remove his hand from his face.

“Please stay.” He almost begged. “Don’t leave me alone with all those people, I don’t know any of them, I don’t know what to say.” He had lost his easy smile. What a weird man. He was so open even to admit something that would have been considered shameful or at least indiscreet by others. This open mindedness meant that Enjolras was supposed to return the feeling and, that, he could not do.

“You’ll manage fine.” He cast in the vague direction of the man while walking fast in the direction of his room.

 

Later, after he had wrote several articles for his independent newspaper, he went to kiss his mother and father goodnight. He did not always did it as he was nearly twenty-two years old but he had left early the party they had organised for something or other and he did not want to disappoint them with his introverted tendencies. 

When he arrived in the living room he saw the empty platters, the left-over food, the glasses scattered everywhere that always littered his house whenever his parents decided to organise anything. He still could feel the thrumming energy of all the people that had talked, moved and laughed in the room.  His fingers moved over the wooden table, feeling under his pale and long fingers the knots and abrasions of the material.

“Your fingers, your hands… They have never worked, I can tell.” A voice interrupted his thoughts.

He turned around and saw the man from earlier. He wondered idly if every time if he was going to turn around he would be there.

“Fuck you.” He answered without heat, as flat as he could have said ‘the weather’s nice today innit’. But the outcome was amazing, the man lost his gloomy exterior and laughed. Enjolras had not even realized he had missed it in the interval he had been in his room. “Stop your assumptions, please. My hands have worked more than you can imagine.”

“I can imagine.” He said simply. “Just wanted a reaction out of you.”

Enjolras did not know why but that made him smile. “My hands have worked and my fists have broken many a nose, be careful.”

“Honestly you could not do a worse job than God’s did on my nose.” At that he poked scornfully his big nose that might have actually been broken a few times.

He did not know what pushed him to do it but he put his fingers on the nose that had been mocked. He traced it gently, like he had done for the wooden table, feeling its imperfections with its beauty, like the man had when he had touched his jaw with a reverence and tenderness. “I like it.” And he did, his own nose was straight and without character.

The man was looking at him with a sort of fright and Enjolras startled and wanted to remove his hand, because maybe he had read it all wrong, whatever it was but the man grabbed his wrist instantly and put his hand against his cheek. Enjolras thought for a moment he was going to turn around and kiss his palm. He would not have done anything to prevent it.

“Jojo! You met Monsieur Grantaire I see!” His mother’s light voice broke through their _rêverie à deux._

They almost jumped away from each other and Enjolras offered a roll of his eyes to his mum good naturedly. “I did not know this monsieur’s name to be honest. Very nice to meet you Monsieur Grantaire.”

The man, Monsieur Grantaire, tipped his head. “Likewise Jojo.”

Enjolras blushed and looked down. “Enjolras, not Jojo.”

His mother had the gall to laugh and she threw a pan of her shawl on her shoulder. “So, were you two admiring Monsieur Grantaire’s paintings?”

Monsieur Grantaire’s eyes were like saucers and Enjolras’ head shook left and right, completely confused. “What?”

“Oh darling I knew you were a distracted boy but don’t you ever listen? I organised a little exhibition for some new artists that I know, in a few years’ time, will sell extraordinary well.”

Monsieur Grantaire seemed embarrassed, and he started to fidget while looking at anywhere but toward Enjolras or his mum or even the wall on their left. That made Enjolras look and sure enough some paintings were hanging.

So bright, so green, so vivid, so red and blue and golden. He did not know a thing about art but he felt as if he had been slapped to simply put it. The details were so minute, and he felt penetrated by the intense stare string back at him and he felt hauled to another place, to another time. He felt overwhelmed and he had to look away.                                                                                                                                  

His eyes found another painting: the complete opposite. A dark, dreary place, dark water and sky mixing up in a tragic mess. A feeling of utter hopelessness overcame and he had to close his eyes once again, he felt overwhelmed.

“Inside my mind, inside my soul.” Grantaire said biting the nail of his thumb. “Or whatever deep meaningful Scheiße real artists say.”

“I don’t believe it for one moment.”

“I don’t believe in much either.” He counter attacked.

“I meant I don’t believe for one moment that you didn’t pour your guts and whatever else was inside you to create that. I don’t believe for one moment people can’t understand you after seeing this and I can’t believe… I don’t know, I- I can’t believe it’s so good.” He finished out of breath. He needed to look at the art again. He noticed other artists’ paintings were also hanging but they were distant and unimportant. He looked at it again, unable to remove his eyes or to look at Grantaire’s expression.

“Well…” His mother started and he jumped back to the present instant: he had forgotten she was here and Madame Enjolras was not someone you could easily ignore. “Enjolras will you give your bed to Monsieur Grantaire for tonight? I am exhausted and I already found a room for all the guests who wished to stay the night. Your bed is the only one left and M. Grantaire is the only guest not sleeping.”

“I- of course, yeah.” He said still flustered. That was when he realized what he had just accepted. He did not share easily anything too personal, so his bed, that was a lot. Especially if he was not in it with Grantaire.

“No! No, I don’t want to be a bother. You exhibiting my lousy paintings was already extremely generous and I’ll call a taxi-“

“Don’t be daft. I’ll lend you my bed, it’s fine.” Enjolras interjected.

Grantaire nodded fast and his mother kissed him on the cheek before bidding them good night.

“Well then, good night Grantaire.”

“Already so irreverent! That was Monsieur Grantaire a few minutes ago.”

“Oh. Still, good night.” He yawned and he headed toward the closet where he knew there were several blankets. He did not mind spending a night on the couch but when he went back in the living room he realized it was already occupied. Did his mother not notice one of her distinguished guests drooling, their face smashed against the cushion? If he slept on the floor he was sure his back pains would come back with a vengeance. Maybe he could try the bathtub as they did in movies. So he went into the bathroom and tried to position himself as to not feel too much the hard and cold and wet material, wait wet? Oh no apparently somebody had showered and Enjolras’ blanket as well as himself were damp. Great.

Out of solutions he decided to work the night instead of trying hopelessly to find somewhere to sleep. He just needed his computer that was in his room. When he opened the door he expected  Grantaire to sleep soundly, but he was actually sitting up in his bed, the sheets rumpled over his knees, his boxer shorts bunched up on his thighs, his shirt absolutely absent- Enjolras diverted his hot gaze.

“Just wanted to take my laptop, sorry.”

“You didn’t wake me up, I just cannot find sleep. Oh dear Morpheus why do you escape from me, why do you reject me?”

Enjolras looked from his desk where his laptop was sitting to Grantaire. He hesitated one long moment and he finally settled on the former. “Do you mind very much if we share my bed? I can’t seem to find anywhere to sleep.”

Grantaire almost jumped out of the bed. “See? I knew I was a bother! I’m sorry.”

“No, please stay. It’s fine.”

Grantaire nodded shakily and sat back down. He lay on the bed, his bare chest completely vulnerable and open to everything. Enjolras wanted to run his fingers all over his body like he had started with his nose, run them smoothly over the offered skin and tug slightly at his body hair. He wanted to circle his stomach, curvy and hairy, with his arms and kiss him.

He settled for simply lying beside Grantaire. He turned off the light and tried to find a comfortable position. He realized belatedly he had never shared his bed, no usually when he met somebody he went to their houses. That was weird, like he should feel a kind of breach of intimacy but he felt at ease. Well he could feel the tension radiate from Grantaire and he wondered if he had been right in insisting they share the bed. Oh well. His eyelids were getting heavier and heavier and the more he tried to overthink it, the more tired he grew.

 

Enjolras could not open his eyes, but that was not because he was too tired but because something was physically obstructing him. His hands touched an arm and he pushed it away which made Grantaire roll a little on his side. It was so tempting: his mouth was slightly open, his hair a mess on his pillows. He just wanted to turn around completely and rest his softly on his, breathing his warm breath. That was not normal, was it? He had met the guy the day before and they hadn’t talked much but, _mon dieu_ , he felt something for him. Infatuation, irritation. All the same thing for him. His blood ran hot and even though he always looked calm and acted thoughtfully, he did not think any less.

He turned a little, the sheets tangling in his naked legs. He should have worn his pyjamas as he would not be in his underpants in his bed with a man wearing the same minimum clothes to be refused in a porn film. But it was hot, the sun and the grey sky battled to end up with a smothering heat. He turned his head a little more and he felt a hard cock against the small of his back. Oh.

Morning wood. That was most awkward. Or well it would have been if Grantaire had been awake but he was still profoundly sleeping, almost snoring in contentment. The ignorant is always happy. He pushed back. He was only human and a very attractive man was pitching a tent in his bed. Didn’t mean he could touch without his knowledge, obviously.

He stopped looking because the sight of the swollen head wetting the front of his boxers was too much. A moan escaped him when he moved and he felt it again, this time lower than his back. Oh, it had been a long time since he had had any kind of carnal relationship with anyone. His forgotten body was answering tenfold to the situation. Right? That was why he was so turned on by a man he didn’t know, right?

“Oh no.” Grantaire whispered with urgency.

“What?” He answered feigning sleep, but in the end yawning for real.

“Hum, nothing. Thank you for letting me crash. I’m gonna go now.”

“Is it because of your boner?” You couldn’t say he wasn’t frank.

“Oh god, I am mortified. My body…”

“Like you said it’s your body. If you can control your body while you sleep I would gladly like to hear how.”

A comfortable silence fell upon them while they were waking up softly.“I feel like I know so much about you.” He blurted out and Enjolras finally turned around to look at him. He was red in the face and he looked even more dishevelled than a few moments ago. “I mean I’m not saying you are predictable or anything…”

“It’s fine.” They stopped talking and they looked at each other. Enjolras was happy he had not left yet. That was weird, wasn’t it? He realized with a jolt since he had met the man he had asked himself so many questions: that was definitely unusual, he never second guessed everything he felt like that.

Tentatively he pushed his ass against Grantaire’s cock like he had done just before. This time they were looking in each other’s eyes and Grantaire could only realize what was happening the moment they touched. He gasped and his eyes widened in shock but he did not go away or push him away. That was good. He did it again and again and again. Grantaire was helpless and writhing under the administrations. Eventually Enjolras reached down and circled the cloth-covered head with his index and his thumb.

Grantaire broke down. For one terrifying moment Enjolras thought he had pushed it too far as the man was almost crying but no, he moaned heartily and threw his head back.

“Don’t stop, please don’t… Don’t stop, ooooh that’s it, no, yes, yes here, oh. It feels good, it feels really good…” He kept on and on. Enjolras didn’t mind and if he was entirely honest with himself that made him even harder. These encouragements, the proof he was giving him pleasure, that was intense.

Enjolras removed his hand and Grantaire’s whine made him smile. He asked him to undress completely and he did the same.  He scooted closer so Grantaire’s cock was sitting full and heavy on his left hip. It was fat and pre come was leaking steadily on his stomach. It was almost as if they shared a body, he found that extremely intimate but he did not shy away from the feeling, it felt nice for once.

They kept moving against each other, touching, grasping and moaning. They shared a kiss and he recognized that it was their first and that made him smile again.

“What?” Grantaire asked with a smile of his own.

“Just happy.” He answered while nibbling on his lips.

Grantaire looked at him for a long time with glassy eyes before plunging and licking his way into his mouth. It was warm, and wet and it tasted good. It felt good. His breath rattled and it was so good he could not breathe and what he could breathe was Grantaire’s air in his lungs and he could not feel anything but the smothering warmth around him and the velvet skin of the dick in his palms and he could not see anything but the blue of his eyes and the black of his hair and he could not feel anything but the swelling affection and the colours fighting behind his eyelids and the hair tickling the back of his hands.

He came with a drawn out moan. His cock was twitching and white ribbons streamed on his sheets, mingling with the whiteness. His mouth would not close and he had to bite his pillowcase to be able to function again. His eyes were as stubborn and the only motivation he could find was to look at Grantaire’s face when he would come.

Grantaire was a mess. His mouth was so red and so wet Enjolras simply had to lick at it, mixing their already shared spit. His eyes were crazy and feverish. Oh, he had ruined him good. He moved his hand faster and faster, watching the reactions immediately on his expressive face.

He thought back about his paintings. How he could have told the personality of the artist, how it had been written, or rather, painted clearly. It matched the man he had in front of him. His face was so open, like his personality, like he was inside. He was colourful like his painting but his deep eyes sometimes held something more. He had seen it yesterday and he had seen it again when he had touched him, when he had kissed him. Disbelief. He was going to make sure he believed in something at the end. Believe in himself, believe in pleasure, believe in Enjolras, believe that he could give and receive whatever he wanted and deserved.

He was coming too, slowly and abruptly his eyes closed but Enjolras could see he was struggling to keep them open. His breath became laboured and his muscles tensed. His toes curled and he finally breathed deeply. His lungs calmed down and his chest didn’t move as furiously as before. That drew Enjolras’ attention to the extensive hairiness of the man and the fact that he had fallen asleep thinking about it. He wiped his dirty hand on the sheet and put his hand on his chest hair and he was surprised to feel his heartbeat increase.

“You make me feel like that.”

“Like what?” Enjolras asked knowingly.

“Like my heart is drunk and wants to jump out of my chest.”

“Is it good or bad?”

“I think you know.”

“You only met me yesterday.”

“I did, it was fucking great. No?” He asked with the look from before, disbelief.

“It was fucking great.”

He laughed, how he liked this deep rumble of mirth. “I thought you didn’t swear a lot Jojo?”

“No, don’t you dare. My mother likes to still see me as a child.”

“Wait, I forgot to ask but how old are you?”

“Twenty-two. Is it because I still live at home? Thought it was more convenient with university and all.”

“Not judging. I like that you seem to really like your parents. It’s very rare those days.”

“Ok old nostalgic man, how old are you?”

“About ten springs more than you. Oh don’t I sound like an old coquette when I say that?” He dramatically sighed and put his hand on his forehead. “You shouldn’t ask old people their age, it’s sad for everyone involved.”

“Hey you started it!”

“I did, didn’t I?” Grantaire looked at him, really looked at him and Enjolras only wanted to kiss him again. So he did.

“Don’t leave my bed. Stay.”

“I already stayed the night, won’t it be too weird if I move in your bed, what with my pitched tent and all?”

“Don’t care, want you to kiss me in my bed.”

“A revolutionary tyrant we’ve got there.”

Enjolras leaned on his elbow. “No, let’s be a democracy. Those in favour of fucking until our hands are raw, our skin is red, until we can’t tell where one ends and the other begins, until our guts clench in pleasure every time a warm breath whisper over it, until our legs refuse to carry us far from each other.”

Enjolras raised his eyebrows a smirk edging on his lips and Grantaire’s breath had been suddenly cut off. “Yay.”

He laughed for the first time. “Another victory for democracy.”

**Author's Note:**

> We buy and offer lilies of the valley on Labour Day in France as a symbol.


End file.
